


Helpless

by Hostile17



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-19 01:57:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13694472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hostile17/pseuds/Hostile17
Summary: "Let it never be said that Inquisitor Kindred Adaar was helpless. I will not let this ache in my chest exist as the exception that ushers in a new era of inaction in the face of resistance. After everything that has happened, after everything I have sacrificed, I desperately wish for an end to the fighting. But for you, Kadan, I will always fight."A Letter that Inquisitor Kindred Adaar writes to Dorian in Tevinter, one year after the defeat of Corypheus. (Based on a playthrough without DLC's)**Re-uploading this after re-editing and correcting some issues!**





	Helpless

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This was based on my first playthrough, which didn't have DLC's. I think they change the ending where Dorian is concerned? But I don't know about that yet! Haha. This is also my first fic ever! :D

My Dearest, Dorian of House Pavus,

I have developed an affinity these past months for pacing. It’s beginning to make Josie nervous. Life and the Inquisition have continued since your departure in much the same state of urgency and whirlwind that you would - I hope - remember from your last days here. Yet, despite the momentus importance around every corner, I find myself unable to devote more than a fraction of my focus to any second that isn’t spend idly wandering the ramparts. Did you ever have a chance to observe all of Skyhold at night? It feels like a supreme privilege I’ve yet to earn, to glimpse such shocking serenity in the heart of a force that changed history.

I talk to you much more often than I write, you know. For that, I can only apologize.

The title of Divine Victoria becomes our magnificent Lelianna. Cassandra - now Lord Seeker - is hard at work restoring her order. Varric has returned to Kirkwall and Solas has yet to be found. Even still, even with such key members of our cause absent, few dare to stand in our way - and none succeed. It is a strange feeling; having lost so much sleep, shed so much blood, used my own mortal hands to bring so many vicious deaths with such righteous fury… all to build the Inquisition into something with the strength to kill a god; to mend the very heavens.

It is strange, when the god is dead, and the fire in the sky has been extinguished, to find one’s self with a surplus of power and influence so extravagant as to be obscene. One with more ambition may be exhilerated by the possibilities before them, but I find that I have been consumed by a soul-deep unrest, as insatiable as it is inexplicable.

I am not the Herald of Andraste. The Maker did not deliver me from - and unto - Corypheus. Divine Justinia was made of flesh and blood, and she alone led me out of the Fade. I have never believed in the Maker or His Bride, and while I have no control over the legends that will rise in my wake, I have never diverged from my assertion that my presence at the Conclave was happenstance. Any mercenary company may have been employed to secure the Conclave, just as any member of the Valo-Kas may have investigated Justinia’s screams. 

The zealous will say that the unlikelihood of this sequence of events only serves to support their belief that I walk in the Light of the Maker. But sensible men like us know better. We know that the notion of fate is inherently flawed, that our lives have no governor but chaos, and that we each make what we can out of what we are given - given not with intent by the gentle hands of a cosmic mother, but by the uncaring and unruly whim of pure uncertainty. 

We each make what we can out of what we are given, so I made what I could out of the Inquisition. I am not a man without pride and ambition, but if the truth be told, my dedication to this cause was driven by neither. I have seen so much death, and so much of it has been out of my control. Worse, a good portion of it was not. In a time when the civilians of Ferelden lived in fear of finding themselves in the crossfire of Mages and Templars, when the Chantry had failed its people and the Conclave was destroyed, I found that I could not bring myself to pledge less than every ounce of effort I possessed towards offering hope, hindering senseless death, bringing about peace… I could not deny myself the opportunity to be a part of something that saves lives, even if more wicked lives needed to be taken in exchange.

I know that I need not explain this sentiment to you. It is the same one you expressed to me on the day you informed me of your decision to return to Tevinter. And it’s true that Ferelden still has far to go. This reconstruction is tedious, and faces its fair share of opposition, but the Inquisition has proven to be an unstoppable force. I am proud of the work we have done, and the work we will continue to do, but I cannot help feeling a deep sense of unease with each new victory. 

Things have changed. We are no longer fighting tooth and nail against the powers that be. We are now among those powers. Perhaps I’ve spent too much time around Sera, or perhaps my hesitation at not having to bite and claw my way to victory speaks to the flaws of my character - few and far between though they may be, as I’m sure you’d readily attest. Regardless, I find it harder each day to commit myself fully to my duties as Inquisitor.

And so it has come to be that my nights are filled more with idle pacing than with anything that could be considered rest. 

The internal chatter which drives me to restlessness consists largely of concerns over the direction of the Inquisition, (when things are done so easily, one must be ever vigilant that it is still right to do them), but I would by lying by omission were I not to inform you that many of those thoughts are of you. There is an ache, too close to physical pain to be dismissed, when I recall the thick, lazy quality of your laughter; the smell of leather against your shoulder long after it has left your skin; the warmth of a smile which has shed all its usual traces of performance. Somehow, it has become a pain to which I am addicted in your absence.

Do you remember when you first told me you were planning to leave? I offered to come with you - insisted on it, in fact. You refused, saying that I would just do everything myself and that this was something you needed to do alone. I thought I was making the right decision by not arguing, by letting you do what you felt was correct, but every day since you left I have been wracked with regret that I did not correct your misjudgement. 

I can understand how my reputation as Inquisitor lead you to the conclusion that I would seek to establish authority and inspire change wherever I go, but you could not be more wrong. Remember that before there was a hole in the sky, I was content to be a humble mercenary… Well, maybe I was never humble, but I have already admitted to having flaws.

The Inquisition was important to me because I understood the responsibility I had been dealt, not because I have great ambition when it comes to power and command. While worth the effort, I found the work exhausting. I still do. Perhaps this is part of the reason I continue to drift further and further from the sunburst throne. With no hole in the sky - no direct, tangible threat that cannot be dealt with in my absence - it becomes more impossible each day to compensate that exhaustion with the promise that our cause, under my leadership, is necessary for the greater good.

Besides, who could resist the opportunity to sit back and watch in awe as the absolute force of nature that is Dorian Pavus obliderates all that stands in his way? Certainly, I could not concieve of having the strength or desire to do so.

This leads me to my true purpose for writing to you. 

Let it never be said that the Inquisitor Kindred Adaar was helpless. For many months now, I have felt as though I am, but it seems my nights of endless introspection have finally borne fruit. I am not humble, nor am I self-agrandized. I acknowledge my accomplishments for exactly what they are. I do not believe I have been touched by the Maker, but I do not pretend that I achieved all I did without considerable skill and strength. 

I do not pretend that I did not work my fingers to the bone to build the most powerful force in Southern Thedas. I do not pretend that I - with you at my side - did not survive countless battles against otherworldly demons and corrupted soldiers. I know that chance alone placed the anchor on my hand, but I do not pretend that I did not stand between a monster and godhood - between the creatures of the Fade and the people of Ferelden.

I have never been helpless, and I will not let this ache in my chest exist as the exception that ushers in a new era of inaction in the face of resistance. After everything that has happened, after everything I have sacrificed, I desperately wish for an end to the fighting. But for you, Kadan, I will always fight. To think that we are together on Thedas, that we have both slain dragons and demons and gods, that we have walked through the Fade untouched and closed a hole in the sky, and we are still alive… To think that, against every odd, the thing I want most in the world may be available to me if not for propriety and decorum… This has haunted me. But I am not helpless. I will not be helpless.

Vivienne and I have never been so much as civil with one another, but I think of her now. I think of her Bastien, and how lucky I am to still have hope that one day I will once again hear my name leave your lips; see the reverence and love in your eyes and spend my every day trying desperately to be worthy of it. I think of the dangers ahead of you in the path you forge, and I am paralyzed with fear that I will wake one morning to news that that hope has been taken from me. But against that fear, I am not helpless. I will not be helpless.

I am prepared to pass the title of Inquisitor onto Commander Cullen. He has earned so much respect, and has led with courage and heart that absolutely cannot be matched. He feels he owes his new life to the Inquisition, and he will serve it well. He will be an excellent leader for this cause, and I trust Josephine implicitly to stablize his judgment. I have given my all to this Inquisition, but it no longer needs me, just as I no longer need it. I need you.

If your return letter does not explicitely state that you will not have me, I will be transferring my power to the Commander and relocating to Tevinter by the end of the season. I must admit that it is with anxiety that I await your reply, Kadan. Nevertheless, I will be glad to hear from you.

With all of my love, 

Inquisitor Kindred Adaar

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

My Handsomest and Most Wonderful Inquisitor Kindred Adaar, 

I must inform you that I did not cry at all whilst reading your letter. Come at once, Amatus.

Impatiently, 

Dorian of House Pavus


End file.
